


After The End of the World

by azryal



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 08:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1850680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azryal/pseuds/azryal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when the world you knew is gone?</p>
<p>Remind yourself of what you still have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After The End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> So, my last big fandom was the Buffyverse. Most of what I did was on the Angel side, but I dabbled in Buffyfic first. Here's one I wrote right after the end of the series.

It still smelled like a hotel room; bland disinfectant flavored with sex and cigarettes and whiskey. It still looked like one too, with its beige walls and sea foam green bedspreads and matching lined curtains. There were bits of home, though, scattered here and there. The detritus of upheaval, of sudden departure, piled onto the lone table and dresser with little method and less tidiness. It was a comfort having the stacks of old books, though; he’d grown accustomed to the scent of decaying paper years ago.   
  
The TV was on, with the sound down, reflecting off of the mirror across from it and making weird light patterns on the walls. Without his glasses, it was vaguely impressionistic, occasionally forming shapes that were almost recognizable as people or automobiles. It became a game of sorts, like trying to find the shapes in the clouds. He lost interest in that, shortly, and became much more interested in what was closer, what was solid and warm next to him.   
  
Asleep and unaware of scrutiny, he was just a boy. He had a soft forehead, still unlined, and a gentle mouth that was, even now after seven years of war zone-like hell, capable of the most brilliant smiles. A young body encasing an old soul, both of which bore far too many scars, otherwise hale and hearty and so hungry for touch. The childhood of neglect that had forged the bitter envy and distrust that nearly destroyed his life had also created the scathing wit and quick thinking that saved it in the end. A paradox, to be sure, and yet so common among those that were left that he came across as a mere spectator, fading into the background behind those rare and extraordinary young women.  
  
He let his gaze travel lower, across the bare expanse of stomach towards a patch of shiny black curls and still formidable cock resting soft against a thigh. As he stared, he recognized the dark whorls dotting the pale skin as bruises, not shadows. They were bruises the exact size and shape of his fingertips, he knew. Probably still there from that first time, the one that broke the lamp next to the bed and left the television as their only source of light outside of the bathroom. The one that had hurt, that had tears flowing from beneath those long black lashes.   
  
It made him hard remembering it.  
  
He’d torn off the eye patch towards the end of it, grabbed the hair at the back of the boy’s head and ordered him to look, to watch. “Watch me fuck you, watch me while you come,” were the exact words. He remembered saying them, repeating them as he dug his fingers into the fleshy inner bits they held. There was no escaping, once it had begun. He’d positioned them with that in mind, and there was sobbing and cursing and it got crueler and nastier until they both shot off . Then they were both crying. They’d both fallen asleep before anything could be said.  
  
When he woke up, there was a second time, later that same day a third. Still nothing said regarding the fact that they were sharing a bed and a shower and the kind of visceral response to anxiety usually reserved for end of the world panic. It was strange how, one whole week later, he finally realized that was what it was. It was the end of their world; everything they knew, every certainty they’d had, was devoured by Hell’s mouth. They had nothing except some piles of rescued memories and a powerful need to hold on to each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be uploading my older fic for posterity. I don't write in nearly as many fandoms as I participate in; when I do, it's very meaningful to me. I'm not saying it's very good, but I am fond of it. 
> 
> Hope it still holds up.


End file.
